


The Interplay of Sex and Violence

by TheseusInTheMaze



Series: The Interplay [1]
Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Anxiety, Begging, Come Swallowing, Dirty Talk, M/M, Oral Sex, Podfic Welcome, References to Body Hororr, Telepathy, Touch Based Telepathy, handjob, references to graphic violence, violent imagery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-15 23:02:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16942380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheseusInTheMaze/pseuds/TheseusInTheMaze
Summary: "So you're a telepath, right?""What gave it away? Was it me participating in that ‘Things Telepaths Want You To Know’ video? Or do I just have the look about me? Maybe the gloves were a clue?"





	The Interplay of Sex and Violence

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you Cinco, who is a god amongst betas. <3

"Can I ask an awkward question?" Ryan leaned back in his chair, his hands behind his head. The chair creaked ominously, and Shane tried not to wince. 

"What's up?" Shane tried to keep his own tone nonchalant - he could catch bits and pieces of Ryan's anxiety, rushing along Ryan's nerves like ones and zeroes through a data stream. 

The joys of telepathy—you never knew what was _actually_ going on, but boy howdy could you read a room. 

"So you're a telepath, right?" Ryan was fiddling with his hands, cracking his knuckles and then wriggling them as if he was signing "applause" in American Sign Language, again and again and again. 

"What gave it away?" Shane's tone was dry. "Was it me participating in that ‘Things Telepaths Want You To Know’ video? Or do I just have the look about me? Maybe the gloves were a clue?" He held his hands up, wriggling his fingers. 

A surge of fondness washed over Ryan and Shane could feel it, like standing next to a roaring fireplace in the middle of a cold room. 

"Fuck you," said Ryan, but the affectionate undertone took the sting out. "So like…when you're hearing people's thoughts or whatever, what's it sound like? Is it words, pictures, what?" The affection was laced with more anxiety. 

"Did you even _watch_ the video?" 

"I thought it'd be better to just talk to you," said Ryan. "Anyway, you go on about how you can't sense ‘anything’ when we go on our ghost hunting shoots—"

"Because there _isn't_ anything," interrupted Shane. "It's why you bring me along."

"I bring you along because I like having you around," said Ryan, and there was indignation behind his words. "I mean, the telepath thing adds to the gimmick, but...that's not all."

"Aw, Ryan, I'm touched," said Shane, and he put a hand over his chest as if he was trying to contain the sentiment. 

Ryan blushed, looking down at his hands. "But yeah. About my question."

"I can't...like, see your thoughts, unless I touch your skin," said Shane, and he indicated his plain white cotton gloves again. "I can tell that you're _having_ thoughts, and I can...hm." He stared up at the ceiling, trying to formulate a way to explain it.

"Hm?" Ryan was staring at Shane intently, enough that it was a bit like having small bugs crawl across his skin. 

"Okay," said Shane. "This is a shit metaphor, but just...go along with me, okay?"

"Right," said Ryan. 

"So you're in a room, and the people the next room over are playing loud music," said Shane. 

"Loud music," Ryan agreed.

"Depending on the...kind of music, you can sometimes hear the bass line, or maybe if there's an especially sick guitar solo."

Ryan nodded.

"But you can't hear lyrics, or if there were quiet instruments, or the...subtler bits of it. So I can tell that there's a clarinet maybe, or a violin, but not what they're doing, just that they're _there_."

"How does that translate, with telepathy?" Ryan was still radiating anxiety - it was practically coming off of him in green rays, like old comic books showing nuclear waste. 

"I can tell if someone wants something," said Shane, "or if they're really angry, or sad, or happy. I can't really tell the difference between, like, grief versus melancholy. Not unless I’m touching them.”

"Right," said Ryan. "Have you ever caught someone having, like, hateful thoughts towards you or whatever?" 

"It's all emotions," said Shane. "If someone is always radiating being pissed around me, I don't always assume that they're mad at me, I just tend to assume that they're... y'know, pissed about something. When I was in grade school, I thought that this one kid had a problem with me because he was always broadcasting ‘fuck you’—"

"I thought it was just feelings, not words," Ryan interrupted.

"'Fuck you' is a state of mind, not a set of words," said Shane, with some assurance. 

Ryan snorted.

"But anyway," Shane continued, "it turned out he just really, really hated our math teacher. When I ran into him outside of school, he was perfectly chill."

"So you don't, like... assume that you're causing whatever emotions people feel?" Relief was pouring off of Ryan like steam. 

"Nah," said Shane. "I'm not that self centered." 

Ryan rolled his eyes. "Good to know," he said. "Thanks for putting up with my weird questions."

Shane shrugged. "It's not the weirdest question I've ever gotten," he told Ryan. "It helps that there are other telepaths around here, so we can all share the weird questions."

Ryan nodded. "Can you like...to go with your analogy, could you put in earplugs or soundproofing or anything like that?" 

"I can...kinda shield myself? I dunno, it's hard to explain. Plus, y’know, long sleeves and gloves.” 

The interior workings of any mind - let alone a telepath's mind - could be difficult to put into words. 

"Right," said Ryan. "Do you do it a lot?"

"I do when we're at work, yeah," said Shane. "We have an open office plan. I need to have a closed office...head."

Ryan snorted, and then he was laughing—he was _cackling_ , and Shane didn't entirely get it; it wasn't that funny. Ryan didn't even seem to find it that funny. But the relief was still sweating off of him, and who was Shane to judge?

There was _something_ going on that Shane didn't entirely understand, but he wasn't going to chase it too hard. 

"You wanna go get lunch?" Shane took his headphones all the way off and tried not to wince at the flood of noise entering his head - listening to his music was handy, just for ignoring everyone else, but it was rude to go around with his headphones in while he was out with Ryan. He could, more or less, tune it out. 

"Sure," said Ryan, and he stretched, his arms over his head and his back arching. His shirt was riding up, and Shane wanted to press his face into the bit of bare skin, right over Ryan's navel. He wanted to feel the warmth of skin on skin, without the barrier of cloth.

...welp. That was a new one.

Shane cleared his throat and blushed. 

Andrew, another telepath, looked up from his computer screen and made eye contact with Shane, raising an eyebrow.

Shane made a face at him and got a smirk in return. 

Jerk. 

* * * 

Ryan was acting squirrely for the next few days, although with Ryan it could be hard to tell. The guy’s two settings seemed to be “obnoxiously bro-y” and “clinging-to-the-walls anxious.”

Shane was being unkind. He knew that, intellectually. But sometimes Ryan just felt _so many things_ , and he seemed to be feeling them all at once. It was like walking by the open door of a perfume store and getting hit in the face with the riot of smells. 

And, okay. 

So maybe Shane was developing…something. Some kind of something he didn't want to look too closely at. Whenever he made Ryan smile a brightness filled his chest, and every other telepath in the area gave him knowing looks.

He at least _tried_ to be subtle about it. And anyway, he was pretty sure Ryan was looking at him a certain kind of way, although he wasn't sure how to quantify it. He had his own feelings - complicated, delicate things like soap bubbles. He didn’t want to poke them too hard, for fear of breaking them.

But he was picking up…something from Ryan, and he almost wished that he could press his forehead against Ryan’s and hear whatever it was that was actually going on in his peanut-sized head. But they weren’t that kind of close. You couldn’t just…do that. 

Going into someone’s head was a level of intimacy you couldn’t do with just _anyone_. 

Not that Ryan was “just anyone,” at this point, but still. 

Ryan was feeling…some kind of anxiety, but Ryan was always feeling some kind of anxiety. The metaphorical music was especially muffled. 

“Shane?”

“Yeah?”

“It looks like we’re going to be working on this late. You wanna come over? We can get some editing done, order takeout?” Ryan was practically radiating nonchalance.

Nobody was that nonchalant.

“Sure,” said Shane. “Sounds like a good plan.” 

“Do I ever come up with bad ones?” Ryan looked smug.

“Underwater Area 51,” Shane replied flatly.

“Okay, first off, that was a _theory_ , not a plan,” said Ryan. “Anyway, it wasn’t that dumb!”

“Roanoke zombies,” Shane said, and then he turned back to his computer screen and put his headphones back in place, beginning to type again. He didn’t have to use his telepathy to know that Ryan was glaring at him. Though he wasn’t expecting the waves of affection that were crashing down along with it.

Huh. 

* * *

Shane went to Ryan’s house, although he had to brace himself before walking in. 

A person’s house was very…intense. It was _layers_ \- day after day after day of feelings, all on top of each other. It was a bit like if someone wore the same cologne every day and sat in the same chair every day - after a few years, the scent of the perfume had permeated into the upholstery. 

And Ryan was a guy who had a lot of feelings, all the time. 

Shane suspected it would be like getting hit in the face with someone else’s feelings, repeatedly. That was, admittedly, what being a telepath was like, but still. Ryan was…moreso. Shane had been to Ryan’s house before, and it was nice— _Ryan_ was nice, an excellent host. It could still sometimes be…a bit much. 

It was like preparing to jump into a pool. You (metaphorically) held your nose, then jumped in. 

So Shane ran a hand through his hair, tried to convince his mind to cooperate, and turned towards Ryan. “Ready to go?”

Ryan grinned at him. “Let’s do it.”

* * *

Ryan’s apartment was full of shadows. Or maybe echoes was a better word - reflections upon reflections, shadows of bad moods, laughing fits, dazed mornings. 

Walking in was like reading Ryan's diary, or watching a video of Ryan's life: intimate, almost voyeuristic. 

Did people who weren't telepaths know that? How did they let telepaths into their lives in the first place, if they didn't?

"You okay, man?" Ryan was kicking his shoes off and putting his bag on the floor in a heap.

"Yeah," said Shane, doing the mental equivalent of putting his fingers in his ears. "How long have you lived here?"

"Couple of years," said Ryan. "Why, is it obvious?" He looked...nervous, and was shifting from foot to foot. If Shane didn't still have his metaphorical fingers in his metaphorical ears, he might have been able to tell whatever Ryan was feeling.

"A little bit," said Shane, "but only to someone who's, uh, got any telepathy."

"Right," said Ryan, and then he just stood there, looking awkward. 

"Can I...help you with anything?" Shane took his own shoes off, leaning against the door. It was taking effort, not to cross his arms across his chest.

"Sorry, sorry," said Ryan, and he looked sheepish. "Sorry, I'm just...not used to you not picking up on things like, y'know, that." He snapped his fingers.

Shane raised an eyebrow.

"Usually," Ryan said, "you're, y'know, able to figure out what I'm thinking, or how I'm feeling."

"Ryan, that's not being a telepath," Shane said, trying to sound patient. "That's just me being an observant person."

"...oh," said Ryan, and then he laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. The tension was leaving his body, and he was relaxing, just a bit. "Sorry. I must be making this a little awkward."

"A little bit," said Shane, and he went over to the couch, flopping onto it, his feet up on the coffee table. "But it's okay."

"I just don't wanna be, y'know, one of _those_ people," said Ryan, and then he was sitting down next to Shane, his knee pressed against Shane's.

It was almost enough contact for Shane to be able to read Ryan's mind, which was an odd thing to think about - Shane didn't usually go in for that. 

...no, that was a dirty lie, Shane had lain in bed on more than one occasion, imagining his fingers buried in Ryan's hair or his palms flat against Ryan's back, reading Ryan's innermost thoughts while Ryan rode his dick. And now he was blushing, because the thought was back in his head, and Ryan was looking at him sidelong in a way that Shane couldn't read. 

"I have a confession to make," Ryan said, and he sounded...what, guilty? Nervous? When everything was muffled like this, it could be hard to understand some things.

"What's up?" Shane tried to sound supportive. He wasn't sure what was going to happen.

"We don't have any editing to do," Ryan said. "I finished it hours ago."

"Oh," said Shane. "So why'd you say we did?"

"Because..." And now Ryan was standing up and beginning to pace, rubbing his hands together. "I wanted you to come visit me, and I needed to get you to come over _now_ , while I still have the nerve, before I chicken out."

"Before you...chicken out?" This wasn't making any sense. 

"I know you can read my mind," Ryan said in a rush. "I _know_ you can, I see the way you look at me. And I had to...I had to tell you my feelings, but it felt wrong to do it at work because we're both always at work and if I did it at your house it'd be weird because it's, y'know, your space, so we're here, only—"

"Ryan, I can't read your mind unless I'm touching you skin-to-skin for an extended period of time," said Shane. "I can tell what you're feeling, because you tend to...broadcast it, but that's just you being you." 

"So if you just...touched me, you'd read my mind?" Ryan was looking at Shane with a hard-to-read expression. 

"The surface stuff, yeah," said Shane. "The deeper stuff can be harder to...access, for lack of a better way of putting it."

"Deeper stuff?" Ryan was still pacing, back and forth, andit was making Shane edgy. 

"Yeah," said Shane. "Thoughts have layers."

"Like ogres," Ryan said, and then he was grinning.

Shane grinned back. "Exactly," he said. 

"So inside every human mind is a mini-Shrek?"

"...sure," said Shane. "If you want to look at it like that."

"So what would happen if I were to...just, like, touch you? Without any clothes in the way, just...touch you?" Ryan was coming closer now.

"Well," said Shane, "I'd be able to read your thoughts."

"All of them?" Ryan took another step closer—he was practically towering over Shane now.

Shane looked up at Ryan and licked his lips. "Well, not all of them," he said, "but a lot more than if I wasn't."

"Oh," said Ryan, and then he held his palm hand out. 

Shane leaned into it until Ryan's warm palm was pressed against his cheek.

...and was inundated with feelings and half-formed words and sensations.

_kiss me love me touch me please please please I want I want I want I want please please please please please kiss me hurt me love me touch me please_

Shane jerked back, staring up at Ryan with wide eyes. 

Ryan stared back at him. "I didn't feel you in there," he said quietly. "Should I have been able to?"

"It, uh...it varies," Shane said, his voice rough. He had an erection, and his heart was beating very loudly in his ears. “Do you…I mean, those are all…surface things.” He had known that Ryan was needy, had known that Ryan was full of energy, of desperation, of the kind of wanting that could eat a person alive. 

It was one thing to know that from a distance. It was another to have it pound through your head like a herd of elephants stampeding. 

“I want to touch you again,” Ryan said, and his voice was very quiet. 

“Hold on a sec,” said Shane, and then he was fumbling his gloves off—he wasn’t even thinking as he did it, and this was a _bad idea_. Letting any part of his skin touch Ryan’s skin was probably a bad idea, let alone in Ryan’s home, full of Ryan’s memories and feelings.

Shane reached out and took Ryan’s hands in his own. 

The tips of Ryan’s fingers were cold, and his palms were sweaty. The contact was enough of a shock that Shane gasped as the flood washed over him again, feelings and thoughts and bits of images. 

_please please please fuck me love me kiss me please I need it I want it I need it I want it please_

Shane pulled his hand back, and then he put his hands on Ryan’s face, pulling Ryan closer. He kissed Ryan, both of their necks at awkward angles and it was a bit like trying not to drown in a flood, or maybe trying to swim up a waterfall. His head was full of Ryan, and Ryan was climbing into his lap, Ryan’s hands were on the back of his neck, Ryan’s tongue was in his mouth.

Ryan _wanted_ \- it seemed to be eating him alive, some kind of huge, gnawing neediness that was gnashing at his guts, scrabbling to get out like something with claws. It was wriggling at the very edges of Shane’s mind, and Shane was almost nervous to let it in. 

But fuck it. 

This was Ryan; he was touching Ryan’s skin, he was letting his own mind roam through the dusty corners and shadowy basements of Ryan’s mind. It was only fair for some give and take. 

Ryan’s forearms were pressed into Shane’s chest and his hands were in Shane’s hair. His bony knees were pressing into Shane’s sides. 

Shane had a barrier, for lack of a better term, separating his mind and Ryan’s, and it was weakening, like a dam with its foundations being washed away by a running river. There were two options: Shane could let go and bring down the barrier, or he could shore it up. 

Shane sighed a long, deep sigh, and he let the barrier come down. 

Ryan crashed down on him like an avalanche. 

_I’m scared what do I do with my hands it feels so good he’s so warm does my breath smell good his tongue please please please hurt me please I need it I need it fuck I want it hurt me cut me open break my face bite my neck break my fingers_

Shane broke the kiss, panting, his face red, the interior of his head practically ringing with Ryan’s inner voice. He buried a hand in Ryan’s hair (it was just as silky as he’d imagined it, only a little stiff with hair gel), and he pushed Ryan’s head to the side to kiss along Ryan’s neck, then nipping it hard enough to dent the skin. Ryan’s moan made Shane’s teeth vibrate and Shane did it again, a little harder. More of Ryan’s thoughts poured into his mind, like someone turning on a hose. 

_harder please yes yes yes god his hands are so big am I too sweaty shit yes yes oh fuck_

Shane kissed Ryan's Adam’s apple, and Ryan’s pulse raced under his tongue. Ryan’s wanting was so strong Shane could almost feel it in his teeth - _bite, feel the tendon crunch under your teeth_ \- but he nibbled instead, little pinches, and Ryan shivered on top of him. 

The inside of Ryan’s head was echoing with begging, wanting violence and affection in turn, a mix that wasn’t exactly new, but also…well, Shane wasn’t used to it to this degree. It wasn’t usually a mix of _I want to feel your come drip down my leg after you’ve fucked me as deep as you can get_ and _I want you to slice me open and stick your arm up to the elbow in my guts._ Shane was used to the contradiction of images and associations in people’s heads—connections got made in unexpected ways. 

Maybe Ryan watched a lot of horror movies at a formative age.

Shane kept pressing kisses to Ryan’s neck, moving up towards his mouth, Ryan's stubble rough under his tongue. Then he licked Ryan’s lips, and Ryan’s tongue was in his mouth, Ryan’s hips were rolling against his and Ryan’s hard on rocked against his belly. He lost himself in it, intoxicated by the novelty of skin on skin, of someone’s breath mingling with his own. The flow of time diverted away from them, and they existed in their own little pocket universe in a bubble of lust and desperation. 

Shane moaned against Ryan’s mouth and his hands went to Ryan’s ass, down the backs of Ryan’s pockets to pull Ryan closer to him. 

Ryan’s hands were tangling in Shane’s hair and the tips of his fingers were still cold. Each contact was another jolt, because the sheer _decadence_ of feeling someone else’s skin against his own was making Shane drunk. He couldn’t get enough of Ryan’s scent, deep and high in the back of his head, and he couldn’t get enough of the little noises that Ryan was making as the desperation inside of Ryan’s head rose in tone. 

_there there there bite there make it hurt please hurt me love me please please please hurt me break my face make it good make it fuck fuck fuck fuck Shane!_

Shane sucked on Ryan’s neck - full on sucked until he tasted pennies, and his hands were between the two of them, awkwardly, his palm pressed against Ryan’s crotch. “Do you want me to, uh…”

“Actually,” said Ryan, and suddenly there was a wave of arousal that came crashing down on Shane’s head, leaving Shane dizzy, incapacitated on the sofa as if someone had kicked his knees out from under him. “I was wondering if I could, uh…if I could make you feel good.”

“You’re already making me feel good,” Shane said, more to be a shit than for any other reason. He curved his palm around Ryan’s cheek, and the ghost of his hand pressed against his own cheek as the sensation transferred from Ryan’s nerves to his own. He stroked along the curve of Ryan’s ear and gave himself goosebumps. It was the empathy he was used to, but moreso - it always came as something of a shock, even though he’d grown up with it. 

“I want to suck you off,” Ryan said, and in his mind the mental sensation of having a mouth full of cock flashed by. It was heavy and it rested on Shane’s tongue, drooling pre-come, hot and thick with blood. 

“Oh,” Shane said faintly. There was desperation behind it, and history - the image of Ryan, lying in bed and thinking about it (and thinking about it, and thinking about it) flashed through Shane’s head, and his cock twitched in his boxers. 

“Is that a no or a yes?” Ryan looked at Shane with those dark, gorgeous eyes of his, and anxiety flitted through his mind. _Shit came on too strong too eager he thinks I’m too much fuck_. “Because, uh, it’s okay if it’s a no.”

“It’s a yes,” Shane said. “Just, uh…surprised. I can usually tell when someone’s got a crush on me.” Not strictly true, but usually he could tell someone liked him before he’d been _inside_ their minds. 

“I can be good at hiding stuff,” said Ryan, and then he was climbing off of Shane’s lap, crouching on the floor in front of Shane with his bare hands on Shane’s knees, warm through his jeans. 

“I’ll have to keep that in mind for the future,” said Shane, and he rested a hand on top of Ryan’s head, his fingers sifting through Ryan’s silken hair.

Ryan shivered, and his hands were shaking just a bit as they undid Shane’s belt. “I haven’t done this in a while,” he told Shane. 

“But you’ve done it before?” 

Ryan reached into Shane’s pants, pulled out Shane’s cock, and squeezed it as his memory went back to the last cock he sucked. It played out in Shane’s head, half pornographic movie, half sense memory - 

_crouched in the back of the bar, mouth around a guy’s dick, cute guy from college, thick cock thrusting in and out, pubic hair bristly, hands slipping in sweat_

\- and then Ryan was stroking him from root to tip, and Shane shuddered, his hips rolling forward, his cock twitching in Ryan’s grip. 

It was a deluge all over again, filling him like water in a glass, and Shane just _took_ it. Ryan’s mouth dragged across his cock, and then it was the sensation of his cock in his mouth, of Ryan’s mouth on his cock, of heat and wetness and suction, of everything happening at once. 

_This isn’t going to last very long,_ flashed through Shane’s head, and then Ryan was taking him down, clumsily. Ryan’s drool was pooling on Shane’s groin and his bare hands were on Shane’s ribs, the skin to skin contact bringing on another flood of endorphins and feelings.

Ryan wanted, Ryan _ached_ , Shane would even go so far as to say that Ryan “hungered,” except then he’d laugh himself out of the goddamn room. And then Ryan’s throat was squeezing him, or maybe spasming, and his hands were on Shane’s balls, and when did that happen? It was almost like Ryan’s mind was pulsing, matching the pulsing in Ryan’s throat, and it was just…feelings.

_I want it I want it I want it give it to me please please please break my neck fuck my face give it to me come in my mouth wreck me please_

Shane’s hands were in Ryan’s hair, and he sat up to dig his fingertips into Ryan’s temples. It was an old wives’ tale that a telepath could have a strong connection, from the temples ot the fingertips, but Shane had always noticed some kind of change. He closed his eyes and rode the sensations of his own nerves, of Ryan’s. He tried not to fuck Ryan’s throat, but his hips were twitching, his mouth falling open. 

The sensation of his cock sliding in and out of his own mouth was…odd, but he was more or less used to it - it wasn’t as if he was getting blowjobs on the regular these days. Sort of. It had been a while. The pleasure was beginning to build at the base of his spine, deep in his guts, in the back of his skull. He wasn’t sure where his anticipation began and Ryan’s ended, but the whole mess of it was just hovering over him, filling him up. He was going to come already, when had that happened?

Shane sobbed, and his grip tightened in Ryan’s hair, strands cutting into his fingers. “I’m—I’m going to come,” he mumbled. “I’m going to come, Ryan, I’m…you’re…I….” 

Shane’s orgasm washed over him like Ryan’s emotions, and Ryan’s unadulterated _delight_ at Shane’s climax was unexpected, yet it added to the light-headed, floaty feeling suffusing Shane’s whole body as Ryan swallowed around him, as the sweet pleasure ran across Shane’s nerves and left him boneless.

And then…more pleasure, because Ryan still had Shane’s cock in his mouth, and then his forehead was pressed against Shane’s stomach, and no, okay, Shane couldn’t kiss him from this angle, and that was a travesty Shane would not stand for. Sit for. Whatever.

“Come here,” Shane said, and he patted his own chest.

…inexplicably, it felt like calling the cat to come to him, and Ryan must have caught the tail end (heh) of that thought because he looked up at Shane, one eyebrow raised. 

“You don’t have to, y’know, do anything,” said Ryan, and anxiety was beginning to ripple off of him like haze off of a hot road. 

“For fuck’s sake,” Shane said, and he grabbed Ryan by the shirt to yank him up…and nearly got himself in the face with the crown of Ryan’s head. 

“You wanna try that again, big guy?” Ryan leaned back, so that he could look Shane in the face. His expression was amused. 

“Shut up,” Shane said, not unkindly, and then his hand was down Ryan’s underwear (when had Ryan opened his pants?) and he was holding Ryan’s cock in his hand. It pulsed in time with Ryan’s mind, which raced with Ryan’s heart. 

_please I want to come make me come make it hurt make it feel good please hurt me love me fuck me please please please please_

Shane grinned and he squeezed Ryan again, a little harder this time. 

Ryan bucked his hips forward, thrusting into Shane’s fist, and his arousal was a beat like dubstep, hard and heavy and erratic. His thoughts were the same mix of want, sex and violence all tangled up, and Shane was possibly going to have a Talk with Ryan about it in the near future, but… that was a problem for future Shane.

Ryan’s face was pressed into Shane’s neck and he was panting, in time with his thoughts, in time with his heart, in time with _everything_. 

Shane sent his own thoughts out, his own _wanting_ and desperation, into Ryan’s deepest thoughts, and Ryan sent it back until it was a feedback loop of desperation and Ryan’s orgasm swept over Shane as Ryan’s teeth sank into Shane’s neck.

Ow.

“How’d I do?” Shane tried to keep the anxiety out of his voice.

“You did good,” Ryan said, and then, “this wasn’t how I saw things turning out.” 

“Evidently there were more guts,” Shane said dryly. 

Shane could feel that the yawning ache in Ryan’s belly had subsided, somewhat. It would probably come back, since these things always do, but for now…well. Ryan was content, cuddled up, his eyes half shut and his breath hot on Shane’s neck. 

“...you saw that?” Now shame was rolling off of Ryan. 

_stay don’t go don’t go you fucked up Ryan good job you fucking dumbass_

“I mean, it’s sexy if you look at it sideways,” Shane said casually, his hand on the back of Ryan’s neck, his fingers fiddling with the thin hair there. “At least it makes some kind of sense. You’re not thinking of…I dunno, kangaroos, or the flowers of the French alps.”

“...what?” Ryan pulled back enough to look up at Shane, eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

“You think it’s easy, the whole ‘I can read minds’ thing? Sometimes you end up exploring the equivalent of someone’s boarded up basement, and there are _things_ in there, Ryan. Things you don’t want to even think about!”

“Except they do, evidently.” Ryan didn’t do dry sarcasm that often, but when he did…hoo boy, did he go all in. 

“Exactly,” said Shane. “Like how you apparently want me to break your face.”

Ryan flushed, avoiding Shane's eyes. “Sorry,” he said.

“For what?” 

“I dunno. Being weird.” 

Shane shrugged. “I mean… it’s weird, but so are a lot of things. I’m not gonna _actually_ break your face or cut you open or anything, but… if you wanna think about that, it’s your head, not mine. You’re thinking your thoughts to yourself, not at me. If you were trying to… force me into it, maybe it’d be different, but otherwise… eh? And it’s not like there’s not other stuff in there that I don’t find sexy.”

“Thanks,” Ryan said, rubbing the back of his neck and looking embarrassed. “I worry that it, y’know, makes me a serial killer or something like that.”

Another shrug. “Sex and violence are pretty mixed up in our society,” said Shane. “You went to film school. You know how that shit can get presented. We imprint on weird shit.”

“Yeah, I know that logically,” said Ryan. “I still wish I knew why I work like that.”

“Does it matter, as long as you’re not hurting anyone?”

“Fair enough, I guess. Although, some pillow talk you got there, 'you went to film school.' Thanks.” 

“You don’t like being reminded of your accomplishments?” Shane prodded Ryan in the ribs.

“It’s not _sexy_ ,” Ryan countered, although anxiety was boiling under it. 

“Well, you are,” Shane said, because what’s the point of reading someone’s mind, if you’re not going to be at least somewhat emotionally honest? “I mean it.”

“Thanks,” Ryan said again, biting his lip. His cheeks were turning dark red, but he looked pleased. 

“So, are you gonna feed me?” Shane wasn’t sure if it was his own hunger or Ryan’s, but his stomach was growling. 

“I just gave you an orgasm and now you’re demanding food?” There was affection in his mind, his feelings, his tone. 

“I’m the worst,” Shane agreed. “Next thing you know, I’ll be taking you out to dinner and holding your bare hand.”

Ryan gave a snort of laughter, a puff of hot air against the sweaty skin of Shane’s neck. 

“You…brazen…something or other,” Ryan said.

“Real creative, Ry,” Shane said. 

“Gimme a minute,” said Ryan, stretching. “Then I’ll feed you.”

Shane kissed Ryan on the temple, and Ryan’s thoughts washed over him, less of a deluge and more like sinking into a warm bath. 

_fucking finally_

**Author's Note:**

> Like this fic?
> 
> Want me to write you something like it, or something completely different?
> 
> Come talk to me on my tumblr, theseusinthemaze.tumblr.com, or my dreamwidth, theseusinthemaze!


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